There was a fire, and there was a lamp. The detective turned up the wick.
“You’ll excuse me, Miss, but I want very particularly to see you while I speak.”
She had gone round the little table, and was standing at the other side of it. With a sudden movement, the detective swooped round upon her, and seizing her by the wrist in a firm grip, pointed to the back of her right hand.
On the soft, white skin there was a little blister freshly made, with a pink line of inflammation round the base.
CHAPTER X.
“That is a burn, is it not?” he asked, quietly.
The girl was white, and she trembled from head to foot. Her white forehead grew damp, and glistened in the lamplight. Her lips seemed scarcely able to form the answer which she uttered in a mechanical fashion.
“Yes.”
“May I ask you to oblige me by telling me how it happened?”
She glanced up at him with a face which was rigid with fear.